You And No One Else
by SpeakNowLetGoGoodbyeLullaby
Summary: Okay, so, this is a Thirst fanfic, but it won't allow me to make a fanfic under the name of Thirst. So, I chose Coffehouse Angel, cuz I like the book. Sorry, but it's a Thirst fanfic, not a Coffehouse Angel fanfic. Sorry :  Someone who was dead is alive..
1. Prologue: Seymour Mourns Her

**Disclaimer: Really? You thought, even for a second, that I own this? Crazy psycho…I take no credit for these words. These come straight from Thirst 2, but I thought they'd be appropriate for my prologue. So I used them. They are the last words of Thirst 2. They are Thirst 2's Epilogue. So. Yeah. Enjoy. ****J**

**Prologue:**

Seymour Dorsten sat at his computer in his bedroom and stared at the words on the screen. It was late, close to dawn, and he had been writing for most of the night. For the last six months, in fact, he had worked almost every night without rest. But it didn't matter how much sleep he missed. He could always sleep during the day. Because he was very sick with AIDS, he no longer attended school, or even went out of the house. Indeed, his personal physician thought he wouldn't live out the year, and it was almost Christmas. Yet the tragedy of his early demise did not disturb him, at least not at the moment. Like his imagined heroine, he was happy in the end, to have even reached the end.

He had just finished his story. _Her_ story.

About Alisa Perne, his Sita. The Last Vampire.

Seymour felt as if he had taken her everywhere she could go, but at the same time he knew that it was _she_ who had led him on the adventures. Lifted him up to heights he could not have imagined if not for his serious illness. For him, the constant experience of his waning mortality had been the greatest muse. She had never said who she was sending her thoughts out to, but it was to him, always to him. But _he_ had made her immortal, and himself, so that he wouldn't have to be afraid of his own death. He knew, in the end, that she had not been afraid, and that her only regret had been that she could not say goodbye to him. But at least he could say goodbye to her.

Seymour leaned forward and turned off the screen.

There was a noise outside his window.

He glanced over. Quickly, he always did.

But it was nothing. A cat, the wind.

But such sounds, this late at night, always made him think of her. Ageless Sita coming through the window to give him her magical blood. To save him from his illness. But she had chosen the only destiny worthy of her. She had simply decided to vanish, to exist only in his heart.

Seymour coughed weakly and brushed away a tear the came to his eye. He should be in a hospital. His lungs were half-filled with fluid, and he couldn't draw in a full breath without pain. Still, he thought, it was better to be at home with his computer and his story. He just wished his heart could beat for her forever.

Seymour was going to miss her. Yeah.

"Goodbye, Sita," he said to the empty screen.

He thought he would miss her forever.


	2. Someone Who Was Once Dead

**Okay, so, this is a Thirst fanfic (obviously). I hope you like it. Disclaimer: This fanfic is my property. But since when do I own a 5000 year old vampire and her friends and family?**

Chapter One

"What…in…the…name…of…Krishna…did…you…do?" I seethe.

Seymour looks away guiltily.

"Seymour?" I tap my foot impatiently. "I am _waiting_."

"Well…um…uh…I kind of…uh…um…"

"_Hello_?"

"I slept with her! Okay! Happy, Sita?" he bursts out.

I am momentarily stunned. This is certainly _not_ what I was expecting. "You…slept…with her?"

He snorts. "Well don't sound so surprised. I'm not a dickless ass who can't get laid," he says sarcastically.

I blink, shocked. This…this is not the Seymour I have been with for the past God knows how long. Suddenly, I act. Faster than anyone - even Seymour with his new, improved, vampiric senses - can follow.

In the blink of an eye, I have him against the wall by his throat.

"Who the _hell_ are you?" I whisper in his ear.

He doesn't even bother to struggle. Yet another sign this is _not_ the Seymour I know and love.

"Whataya mean, love? I'm Seymour."

"The Seymour I know would be terrified. He would be struggling, and asking what is going on. He would _never_ say 'whataya' or call me 'love'. Now. I'll ask again. Who the _hell_ are you?"

He struggles now, briefly. Not that it does him any good, but you cannot blame a boy for trying, right?

I stand back, away from his face, but still holding his throat painfully.

"I'm going to ask nicely once more, and once more only. Who are you? And what the hell did you do with Seymour?"

He merely laughs in my face. "What, you don't recognize me, sweetheart?" He stops laughing abruptly, and spits in my face. "Bite me, bitch. Oh, wait, you did that already." He sneers at me.

I have a sickening feeling gnawing at the edges of my stomach. "No," I whisper. I shake my head, trying to rid it of its new knowledge. "No."

He rolls his eyes. "Oh, hell yes. I'm assuming you know who I am now?"

I look at him then, really look at him. I see him through the eyes of someone in shock and in love. "But you are _dead_. I saw you. There is no possible way you could have survived that blast."

"Well, obviously, there is," he says snidely.

"Why are you doing this to me? I thought you loved me. I thought…" In all honesty, I do not know what I am talking about, much less what I think about this man standing in front of me. About the man who made love to me. About the man I loved. About the man I still love. About him. About…

"Joel."


End file.
